Don't Read the Last Page
by JustDeedee
Summary: Lucy faces one difficult decision after another as Wyatt's dark suspicions begin to play out. Canon divergent starting partway through S1x16.
1. Chapter 1

Feeling guilty and more than a little angry, Lucy tugged the car door closed behind her, and slumped over the steering wheel. _Damn it._ Flynn had trusted her with the fate of his family, and now, thanks to Agent Christopher, he was convinced that Lucy had betrayed him.

She could kick herself for not realizing that Christopher would follow her to the meet-up with Flynn, that the federal agent would do everything in her power to ensure that the man who had terrorized American history _(and her team)_ for the past year paid for his crimes. But couldn't Christopher at least have let Flynn try to save his family before she hauled him off to jail? That was all that he'd ever wanted, after all.

True, Flynn _had_ stolen top-secret property _(a time machine, no less)_ , and there was no question that his subsequent actions had been atrocious. Yet he'd also been one hundred percent correct in his recent assertion to Lucy and Wyatt that they would do the exact same things if it could somehow bring back the loved ones that they had lost.

Lucy had openly admitted that Flynn was right. But there was something else that she _hadn't_ admitted, another reason why a part of her felt that the man deserved some leniency. Simply put, his not-so-little crime spree had led Lucy to an all-new life — one that was far more thrilling and fulfilling than that which she'd originally chosen for herself. Even if it wasn't a life that she could hold onto for much longer, Lucy would always feel a little grateful to Flynn for that.

Because of Flynn' actions _(however criminal they might have been)_ , Lucy was finally able to step out of the shadow of her highly-accomplished historian mother — to start to make her _own_ choices, and to truly become her _own_ person. As a member of the 'time team', she'd gotten to experience history as it _really_ happened _(something that even her esteemed mother had never done)_ , along with enough action and adventure to last _anyone_ a lifetime. One might even say that she'd become a historical hero of sorts. As if all of that weren't exciting enough, Lucy had also, for the first time ever, fallen in love with a man who wasn't just another long-dead figure from one of her history books.

While she had no illusions that anything would ever come of her feelings for Wyatt _(he was and always would be married to the ghost of his deceased wife)_ , at least now she knew that she was _capable_ of falling in love. After seemingly endless years of dating, yet never feeling anything more than the occasional passing spark of attraction for anyone, Lucy had honestly started to wonder if something inside of her might be broken. Now she knew better. Though falling in love for the first time hadn't worked out the way that she'd hoped, perhaps the next time it would. Once she got over Wyatt, of course.

 _Speaking of which…._ Lucy dug her cellphone from one coat pocket, and dialed the only number besides her mother's that she knew by heart. She'd promised to let Wyatt know when the meet-up with Flynn was over, and if she didn't soon, he'd probably come after her, guns a-blazing.

Ever since last week's mission to 1954, when Lucy had insisted on returning to the present separately from the rest of the team _(she'd had no choice, really — Jiya had needed immediate medical care, but Lucy hadn't yet convinced her grandfather to help them take down Rittenhouse)_ , Wyatt had been oddly overprotective of her. Though Lucy appreciated his gentlemanly concern, there simply wasn't a need for it anymore. With Flynn locked up, and Rittenhouse in the process of being dismantled, Wyatt's job as her official protector was over. Besides that, his insistence on keeping such close tabs on her was starting to exceed the limits of her emotional fortitude.

How was she supposed to get over Wyatt, exactly, when he was always either by her side or insisting that she check in with him by phone? When her brain boarded the fast train to Fantasyland every time she heard his voice, or he smiled at her _(those dimples…sigh)_ , or _(God forbid)_ he accidentally brushed against her? Surely Wyatt _must_ know by now how he affected her. Yet for some unfathomable reason, he persisted in making her miserable with his constant presence.

It was ridiculous. _She_ was ridiculous. Wyatt had made it abundantly clear that he had no interest in anything other than a working relationship with her. But try as hard as she might, Lucy couldn't get her feelings for him to go away. If anything, they just seemed to grow stronger with every interaction that she had with him, much to her never-ending frustration. And right now, the man himself wasn't making it easy on her in any way. Thankfully, as a Delta Force soldier, Wyatt would soon move on to another assignment. Though she would miss him and their adventures together, perhaps with him officially out of her life, her heart could finally move on, too.

"Everything go OK with Flynn?" Wyatt answered her call on the first ring.

"Not quite." Realizing that she was feeling a bit too warm _(the sound of Wyatt's sexy baritone in her ear having nothing whatsoever to do with that)_ , she wriggled out of her coat, and tossed it onto the passenger seat. "Christopher showed up with a tactical team, and arrested him." Lucy didn't even try to hide the irritation from her voice.

"She was just doing her job, Lucy," he reminded her firmly. "The guy's a terrorist, and belongs behind bars."

Lucy wasn't at all surprised that Wyatt thought so. Good and bad, right and wrong — it was all so black-and-white to him, wasn't it?

"Yeah, a terrorist who now thinks I betrayed him," she snorted wryly. "If he ever gets out…." Lucy trailed off, reaching down towards the passenger side floor to retrieve whatever had just fallen out of her second coat pocket. _Oh right — the journal._ In the chaos of Flynn's arrest, she'd completely forgotten that the man had given it to her.

"He's _never_ getting out. Christopher will see to that," Wyatt reassured her.

"Yeah," Lucy responded automatically, not really hearing what he had said. Staring down at the worn, leather-covered book in her hand — the one that Flynn claimed that she herself would someday write — she wondered if she should read it. A few months ago, she wouldn't have dared to even _consider_ doing so, on the off chance that something she learned from it would inadvertently cause her to change history on one of their missions. But surely now that the missions were over, and both time machines were under high-security lockdown, no harm could come from it. _Could it_?

"Hey, we still on for drinks tonight?" Wyatt asked. "Rufus and Jiya found a new place they want to try over on Gough. Guess it's got a pirate theme or something."

Caught up in considering the possible ramifications of reading the journal, Lucy failed to reply. What if just the _act_ of reading it caused history to change somehow? Or what if she found out something truly terrible about her future? Neither possibility was something that she was certain she wanted to risk, especially the latter.

Thanks to Flynn's liberal use of this playbook that she'd supposedly given him to follow, Lucy had already lost her sister, Amy. Could she handle it if she found out that she was destined for still more heartbreak? Of course, there was always the possibility that the journal contained _good_ news about her future, too, but Lucy didn't hold much hope of _that_ being the case. If life for her future self had been bright and shiny in any way, she wouldn't have given Flynn the journal in the first place, would she have?

There was also the question of whether or not Lucy should tell Wyatt and Rufus that the journal was now in her possession. Wyatt in particular had been angry with her for not telling them of its existence to start with — for weakening the team by not sharing important intel. But would he _(or Rufus)_ even _care_ that she had the book now, given that they wouldn't be working together anymore?

If their roles were reversed, Lucy supposed that she'd still want to know about it, _and_ to get a chance to read it, too. After all, Flynn had practically waved the damn thing under all of their noses for the last year, always hinting at things that he supposedly knew about each of them. Should she allow her teammates to indulge their curiosity, or would that be as potentially damaging as if she read the journal herself?

Realizing that she needed to think on it some more before making any final decisions _(honestly, maybe she should just burn the blasted book and be done with it)_ , Lucy tucked the journal back into her coat pocket.

"Lucy? You still there?" Wyatt's voice held an edge of panic that finally broke through her thoughts.

"Sorry, just thinking. What were you saying — something about pirates?" Lucy fastened her seatbelt and started the car, eager now to get home, to shower, and to nap for a bit before the evening out that she and her teammates had planned. It was to be a goodbye party of sorts, and she knew that if she didn't get at least a _little_ rest beforehand, she'd be a big old blubbering mess of tears before the night was over. Not exactly the last impression that she wanted any of them to have of her, least of all Wyatt.

"Rufus and Jiya want to check out Smuggler's Cove tonight," Wyatt repeated, clarifying the group's plan. "Supposedly they've got like 200 kinds of rum on tap, and Rufus bet Jiya he could get through more of them without passing out than she could."

"Well that ought to be fun to watch," Lucy giggled. "My money's on Jiya."

"Mine, too," Wyatt chuckled. "But don't tell you-know-who I said so. So are you still in? I could, uh, swing by and pick you up on the way. Say around 7:00?"

"Sounds good," Lucy agreed. She flipped on her turn signal, and waited for a wide enough opening in traffic before pulling away from the curb.

"Great. Text me when you get home, OK?" _(Definitely overprotective.)_

"Yep." Lucy rolled her eyes, and disconnected the call the same way that she always did when talking to Wyatt: without actually saying goodbye. Tossing her cellphone on top of her coat, she scoffed at her own foolishness. For some reason, 'goodbye' was something that she could never bring herself to say to him. But that was about to change, wasn't it? After Monday's wrap-up with Agent Christopher at Mason Industries, Wyatt would go back to his own life, and there would be nothing _left_ to say to him but 'goodbye'.

Feeling a bit melancholy _(she definitely needed that nap, and maybe a hot, relaxing bubble bath instead of a shower),_ Lucy set off for home. If she wished as she drove that Flynn would somehow bust out of jail, or that Rittenhouse would pull some unexpected stunt that would keep Wyatt _(and the rest of her beloved team, of course)_ in her life for just a little while longer, well, nobody else would ever know. After all, it wasn't likely that she'd ever written about _that_ in the damned journal, was it?

* * *

Wyatt stared down at his phone in annoyance, and slammed the legs of his chair back down on the floor. _Call Ended._ " _Damn it_ , what is her _deal_ with that?" he cursed loudly.

"Whose deal with what?" Rufus asked around a mouthful of clam chowder, glancing up briefly at his irritable friend. He tore off a chunk of his sourdough bread bowl, dunked it into the thick, creamy soup, and popped it into his mouth. _Man_ , was he grateful for the convenience of 21st century take-out, and the fact that _(now that they wouldn't be chasing Flynn through time anymore)_ he need never be without it again.

"Lucy," Wyatt growled. "She hung up on me _again_ without saying goodbye." He leaned his elbows on the Mason Industries conference room table where he, Rufus, and Jiya had gathered for a quick lunch, and scrubbed at his face in frustration.

"What, is that like a serious affront to your gentlemanly sensibilities or something?" Jiya teased.

"No, it's just _stupid_." Wyatt pounded his fist on the table to punctuate his point. "If Lucy doesn't say goodbye, how am I supposed to know she actually meant to hang up? That she isn't hurt, or…or didn't just get hauled off again by some psycho with a creepy agenda?"

Rufus and Jiya exchanged a look of exasperation. Wyatt had always been a _bit_ overprotective of Lucy, particularly after Flynn had kidnapped her that one time back in 1780. But ever since they'd returned from last week's mission, the man had been absolutely _obsessed_ with her safety. The pathetic thing was, there was no longer any reason for Wyatt to worry about Lucy at all. Except, of course, that he was glaringly in love with her. What was even more pathetic? Lucy obviously felt the same way about Wyatt, yet neither of the pair seemed to realize the other's feelings. How could two people in love possibly be so blind? Honestly, it was getting downright painful to watch.

"Right. Because the odds of _that_ being the reason Lucy doesn't tell you goodbye are astronomically high." Rufus couldn't (ever) resist giving Wyatt a hard time. "Especially when she makes such a _point_ of telling everyone else goodbye before she hangs up on them. Me, Mason, Christopher, her mom, the lady who takes her phone orders at the Thai delivery place, that guy she called last week about the free sofa on Craigslist. How about you, Jiya? Does Lucy say goodbye to _you_ before hanging up?"

"Every time." Jiya grinned slyly, and winked at Rufus. Needing to get back to work, she wadded up the remnants of her deli sandwich, and stood from her chair. "Hmm. Maybe you just need to _teach_ Lucy how to say a proper goodbye to you, Wyatt," Jiya offered helpfully. She waggled her eyebrows at her boyfriend, then leaned in to give him a loud, playfully exaggerated kiss. "Goodbye, Rufus," she stage-whispered, side-eyeing Wyatt as she strode from the room.

Wyatt's cheeks reddened with embarrassment at his friends' not-so-subtle ribbing.

"Dude, are you _blushing_?" Rufus taunted. "You _are_ , aren't you?" He guffawed.

"Shut up," Wyatt grumbled. "I don't blush." He stood and occupied himself with clearing away the mess from his own meal, brushing a few stray crumbs onto the carpet.

"Right, right." Rufus nodded his head sagely. "Must be a sunburn from all those days you _haven't_ been spending outside lately. Seriously, though — do you have any idea how _ridiculous_ you've been acting? Do us all a favor already and just tell Lucy you're in love with her, would you?"

" _What_?" Wyatt scoffed at his friend's assessment of the situation. "Come on, Rufus. Lucy's my teammate."

"Dude, _I'm_ your teammate, too, but if you start acting like that towards me, things are going to get really weird really fast." Rufus could see by the set of Wyatt's jaw that the man wasn't amused. "Look, you've barely let Lucy out of your sight since we got back from D.C., and when you do, you insist that she check in with you constantly. If you're not in love with her, then what the hell is all that about? Because from where I'm sitting…."

"Do you ever get the feeling that something really bad is about to happen, Rufus?" Wyatt interrupted, his voice low and ominous.

"Yeah, every time I step foot in the Lifeboat," Rufus quipped. _(Thank goodness he never had to do that again!)_ He frowned as he looked over at Wyatt, who was now pacing back and forth near the door. "You're serious though. You think something bad is going to happen to Lucy? Like what?"

"I don't know. But back in D.C., when we were just about to leave? Flynn gave me this…this _look_ , you know? And…I don't really know how to explain it, but it's like he was saying 'This isn't over yet'. And it got me thinking about Lucy's journal, and the part of it Flynn read me back in 1972."

"Wait - _what_? You never told us Flynn read you part of the journal!" Rufus couldn't help but feel a little pissed off. " _Seriously?_ After that guilt trip you laid on me and Lucy about keeping secrets from the team?"

"Yeah, well, it was private stuff, OK?" Wyatt defended himself. "Stuff about me, and about Jessica's death. The thing is, it was totally accurate, all of it. And not just the kind of stuff you could find in the newspapers. There were _details_ , Rufus — personal details that I never told _anyone_. Which I guess means I'm _going_ to tell Lucy, in the future?" He rubbed the back of his neck agitatedly. "The journal also talked about how I was obsessed with Jessica's death, and needed to get over it and move on, and Lucy — future Lucy — sounded pissed about that, like something to do with my feelings for Jess had caused some sort of problem for the team."

"Well you _did_ steal the Lifeboat to try to get Jessica back. That _definitely_ caused some problems for the team," Rufus reminded him.

"Yeah, but that already happened, and in the long-run, it turned out OK. _This_ , though?" Wyatt paused to collect his thoughts. "Given the details future Lucy knew when she wrote the journal, it feels like something that hasn't happened yet. And if _that_ hasn't happened yet, what _else_ is in that damned book that hasn't happened yet? I can't shake the feeling, Rufus, that we're not done yet — that's there's more to come, and Flynn knows it, and he was trying to give me some kind of heads-up or something."

"OK, not that I'm saying you're crazy or anything," Rufus argued, though he really was starting to think that. "But Flynn's locked up, and there's no way Homeland Security is letting him back out again in _this_ lifetime."

"Maybe it's not Flynn we have to worry about, though," Wyatt clarified. "Maybe it's Rittenhouse. I mean, that _is_ why future Lucy supposedly gave Flynn the journal, isn't it — to wipe Rittenhouse off the map?"

"And we've _done_ that, haven't we?" Because the thought that maybe they hadn't was far too terrifying for Rufus to process at the moment. He'd _done_ his time, damn it. He'd had enough of playing dress-up, and he sure as hell was _not_ getting back in that freaking time machine just to try and get himself killed again. "Christopher and her team have been working around the clock to round up all those dicks."

"But what if they _don't_ get them all?" Wyatt's eyes darted back and forth frantically, his voice growing more and more agitated. "Or what if there are members that we don't even _know_ about? Lucy's grandpa was pretty damn thorough in gathering intel, but he's just _one_ man, Rufus. Who's to say there isn't something or someone important he missed?"

Seeing that Wyatt seemed to be working himself up into a flat-out panic, Rufus tried to lighten the mood a little. "So you're saying you're not in love with Lucy, that you're just keeping her on a short leash because Flynn — who, by the way, _always_ has some kind of creepy look on his face — was making eyes at you?"

"I'm saying we need to keep our eyes and ears open, just in case," Wyatt sighed, clutching tightly at his hair with both hands as if trying to ground himself. "Maybe I'm just being paranoid, but I can't shake the feeling that something bad _is_ going to happen."

"Well I hope _like_ _hell_ you're wrong, buddy." And he did. But Wyatt was the one who was trained to spot danger, and Rufus couldn't quite ignore that fact. Either way, Wyatt didn't seem willing to let this go. "But I guess it wouldn't hurt to keep our guards up a little longer. Have you talked to Lucy about any of this?"

"No. I, uh, don't want to freak her out, in case I'm wrong. She's got enough on her plate already, with coming to grips that she's not going to get Amy back. Not to mention trying to figure out what to do about Dr. McDouchebag."

Rufus didn't miss the way that Wyatt practically growled that last part. Definitely spoken like a man who was concerned about far more than just his 'teammate's' safety. "Yeah, but you can't be with her 24-7, Wyatt. She needs to know about this so she can keep _herself_ safe. Oh, and you _do_ know she dumped Noah, right?"

"Really? When?" Wyatt's eyes seemed to brighten with interest, though Rufus could tell that his friend was trying to play it cool. "She never, uh, mentioned it."

"Technically last week, right after he patched me up. But it's been over for months, from what Jiya said. Guess Lucy finally let the guy kiss her, but there was no chemistry or whatever. She told Jiya that she should have known lightning bolts from the heavens don't strike twice, whatever the hell _that_ means."

"Hmm," Wyatt grunted noncommittally. He turned his back to Rufus, and ambled towards one of the large glass windows that overlooked the Lifeboat hangar, as if suddenly interested in the view.

 _What an idiot – doesn't he know that glass is reflective?_ Rufus grinned at the sight of the somewhat cocky, full-dimpled smirk now plastered to his friend's face. Though he wasn't quite sure of the _exact_ reason behind Wyatt's expression, he was absolutely certain that it had something to do with the man's very un-teammate-like feelings for Lucy.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks so much for the reviews, follows, and favorites - you all make it such a delight to write and share stories here! I apologize that I'm behind on my replies, but I've been sick for most of the past week. Hopefully this next chapter meets your expectations, and I promise to catch up on replies ASAP!**

Wyatt turned his key in the lock, and let himself into his apartment. Toeing off his boots at the door, he hung his jacket and keys on the nearby hooks, and then meandered to the sofa, where he finally collapsed with a weary sigh. After a long day spent poring over the last few weeks' mission reports to ensure that every 'i' was dotted and every 't' was crossed, he was more than ready for an evening out with his teammates-turned-friends. Perhaps once he had a few drinks in his system, he'd even be able to muster the courage to finally invite Lucy over for a long-overdue talk. There was so much that she didn't know, so much that he _needed_ her to know. He only hoped that it wasn't too late to tell her.

From practically the moment that he'd met Lucy – the very first second that he'd opened his eyes to find her seated across from him in the Mason Industries lobby – Wyatt had been at war with himself over his feelings for the petite historian. What he'd initially dismissed as mere physical attraction _(a man would have to be blind to not see how beautiful Lucy was, and Wyatt definitely wasn't blind),_ had quickly proven to be far more complicated. And that was a problem – a very _big_ problem – for Wyatt, because if there was one thing that he absolutely could not, _would_ _not_ do, it was fall in love. He'd already tried that once, and it hadn't ended well for anyone, least of all for his poor deceased wife. Unfortunately, by the time he'd realized what was happening, it was way too late. He'd _already_ fallen in love with Lucy, and there wasn't a damn thing that he could do to change it.

Not that Wyatt _wanted_ to change it, not anymore. Though he'd fought it for a long time, he'd finally accepted what Lucy had been telling him all along: some things in life were simply 'meant to be'. And him falling in love with Lucy? Well if that wasn't a clear case of 'meant to be', then Wyatt didn't know what was.

Unfortunately, now that he _had_ accepted that, it was all Wyatt could do most days to keep himself from taking Lucy in his arms and kissing her senseless, right after falling to his knees and begging her to be his forever. Which presented a whole _new_ problem, because he had absolutely no idea if Lucy was even in the same _library_ let alone on the same page as him with regards to their relationship.

It wasn't that he was _completely_ unaware of her feelings _(he wasn't_ quite _as dense as Rufus and Jiya seemed to think)_. He'd clearly seen a spark of _something_ in Lucy's eyes when he'd kissed her back in 1934 – something soft and sweet, yet simultaneously electrifying – something far too _real_ considering that the kiss had merely been a ploy to ensure the success of the mission. And her subsequent speech about people _("you, we, anyone")_ needing to be 'open to possibilities' with regards to love? Coming so close on the heels of that kiss, as they lay half-dressed, side by side in the world's narrowest bed? Throw in the long, lingering looks that she often cast his way, and the intimate hugs that seemed reserved only for him, and there was a lot of evidence to suggest that Lucy wanted much more than friendship from him. Yet despite it all, Wyatt feared that perhaps he was simply projecting – seeing only what he wanted to see.

The fact of the matter was, Lucy was a very passionate, tender-hearted, and affectionate person by nature – one who often went out of her way to help those in need. While Wyatt loved that _(among other things)_ about her, it also made him question whether she was actually _interested_ in him, or had simply made it her mission to help him put his life and heart back together. Though there was no debating that she had done both _(and so much more),_ Wyatt had no desire to be Lucy's 'pet project'. It might have taken him a while to realize it, but he knew now that he wanted to be her _everything_ , her 'endgame' as it were. Unfortunately, what _he_ wanted meant absolutely squat if she didn't feel the same way.

So yeah, he and Lucy _definitely_ needed to talk, and soon. Preferably _before_ he lost every ounce of the self-restraint that he'd spent so many years cultivating, and did something completely stupid like kissing her in front of the whole team without her permission. Hadn't it taken all of his willpower to keep from doing just that last week, when she'd insisted on staying in 1954 without him?

 _On that note…._ Glancing at his watch, Wyatt figured that he had about three hours before he needed to leave to pick up Lucy. That was more than enough time to pull himself together, and to prepare for the talk that he hoped to have with her tonight – starting with addressing the sorry state of his apartment. Though typically a bit of a neat freak _(military training and all that)_ , he'd really let things slide lately. So many missions in such a narrow timeframe had left him with very little downtime, and it showed. The last thing that he wanted to do was invite Lucy into this mess. While he didn't think she'd really care _(surely he wasn't the only one who'd been too occupied with work lately for housecleaning)_ , it felt important, somehow, that she feel perfectly at ease in his home.

An hour and some concentrated effort later, Wyatt's apartment was practically sparkling. The dirty dishes were all washed and put away, the carpet was freshly vacuumed, the washing machine was humming with a load of clothes, and the bathroom was neatly scrubbed and smelling of fresh-cut pine. He'd even managed to scour the shower, and change out the sheets on his bed _(not that he expected Lucy to spend any time tonight in either location, but hey – a guy could dream, right?)_. That left just one very important task to accomplish.

Empty cardboard box in hand, Wyatt stood at the end of his bed, and stared at the myriad photos and newspaper articles pinned to the wall in front of him. Aside from the wedding band now buried at the back of his sock drawer, these were all that he had left of his late wife – the last tangible bits of proof that she had ever been a part of his life at all. A couple of months ago, he'd have likely pummeled anyone who dared to even _suggest_ that he remove them. Now, however, he knew that that was exactly what he needed to do. After all, how could he even _hope_ to build a future with Lucy, if he was still stubbornly clinging to his past?

Though a part of him would always love Jessica, she was gone, and had been for years. It was long past time that Wyatt let her rest in peace, and started living his own life again. He knew that that was what his wife would have wanted for him, and for the first time since her death, it was what he wanted for himself, too.

One by one, Wyatt removed the papers, and deposited them in the box, feeling a little bit lighter in spirit with each inch of bare wall that was revealed. He'd just finished stowing the box safely out of sight under his bed when his cellphone began to ring. Seeing that the incoming call was from Agent Christopher, he answered right away. He hadn't even said hello before she was practically shouting in his ear. _Shit. What had he done now?_

"Master Sergeant, I need you to get your ass back to Mason Industries ASAP – as in NOW!"

Was it Wyatt's imagination, or did his boss sound panicked? That wasn't like Agent Christopher _at_ _all_.

"Yes, ma'am. Mind telling me why it's so urgent?" Not even waiting for her reply, he strode to the front entryway of his apartment, slid his feet into his boots, snatched his jacket and keys, and dashed out the door towards his jeep.

"I'll fill you in when you get here. I can't be sure this connection is secure."

She disconnected without another word, leaving Wyatt to wonder and worry as he sped the few short miles back to Mason Industries what the _hell_ was going on. What could possibly have Agent Christopher both sounding like that, _and_ worried about secure telephone connections? Was it Flynn, or Rittenhouse, or perhaps an entirely new threat altogether? Whatever it was, Wyatt prayed to God _(though he wasn't quite sure he believed in him)_ that it had nothing to do with any of the fears that had been playing through his mind on auto-loop for the past week.

Unfortunately, his prayers were too late. As he pulled into the Mason Industries parking lot, and saw the entire complex in flames, it was terrifyingly plain to Wyatt that his darkest suspicions had been correct. Though he still didn't know which enemy they were fighting, the war clearly wasn't over yet. Leaping from his jeep, he raced towards the burning building, thankful that he knew for certain, at least, that Lucy was not inside. Now if only he could be sure that Rufus, Jiya, Christopher, and Mason – the only family besides Lucy that he had left – had made it out safely.

* * *

Lunch hour traffic in the city being the nightmare that it was, the drive home was a long one, giving Lucy plenty of time to debate the merits and risks of reading the journal. By the time she pulled into her assigned parking spot in her apartment complex, she had finally reached a decision: however curious she and her teammates might be about its contents, it would be far wiser to simply destroy the book. Of course, that was _before_ her coat got caught in the door on the way into her apartment, and the damned thing fell out of her pocket again.

A quick glance down revealed that the fall had dislodged something from the journal. She automatically reached for it, and was surprised to find that it was a photograph of her mother, herself, and her sister, arms locked around each other in a show of familial love. Though Lucy recognized the picture _(a copy of it had once sat on the end table in her mother's living room)_ she couldn't for the life of her figure out how it had come to be part of the journal. After all, that image had _changed_ after the team's first mission, serving as the earliest evidence that Amy had been erased from Lucy's timeline.

That there was an unaltered copy of the photo still in existence when Amy herself was not, both baffled and thrilled Lucy. Could this mean that she would, at some point in the future, _finally_ get her sister back? How was that even _possible_ , now that she no longer had access to a time machine? And if, by some miracle, she _could_ get access to one, what sorts of dreadful things would she be forced to do in order to put Amy back on the planet?

Fear and hope warred inside Lucy's mind. In the end, though, hope won out. Before she and her teammates had become the close-knit group that they now were, the prospect of someday getting Amy back had been the _only_ thing to keep her sane and standing throughout the increasingly brutal missions. It was what she had fought for over the last year, and she couldn't stop fighting now if there was even the _slightest_ chance that she would ultimately be victorious. Even if that meant doing the one thing that she currently feared most: reading the journal.

So Lucy retrieved the dreaded thing from the tiled entryway floor, and carried it with her into the bathroom. In practically no time at all she was comfortably ensconced in a steaming, rose-scented bath, journal in hand. Feeling more energized than she had all day by the prospect of getting her sister back, she turned to the first page of the book, and immersed herself in the tale of what she prayed would be a promising future.

A few hours and just as many hot water refreshes later, she wasn't sure that she could get through the rest of _this_ day, let alone any of those that the godforsaken doomsday book warned were still to come. As she'd originally feared, her future would be a far cry from a Disney fairytale — more like a Grimm fairytale on steroids. Sure, there would be love, and moments of happiness that she'd never even _dared_ to imagine, but it would all be overshadowed by soul-searing losses that would make the ones she'd already suffered seem like mere paper-cuts. How could this _possibly_ be the life that she was destined to live?

Feeling wholly wrecked, Lucy dropped the journal beside the tub, and sank fully beneath the now-frigid water. Hair swirling in the mild current, every pore on her face clenching against the sudden cold, she couldn't help but flash back to that day so many years ago now when she'd driven her car off the road into the dark waters of that rushing river. At the time, after a pair of strong arms had miraculously pulled her from the wreckage, she'd felt so tremendously grateful to have another chance at life. She wondered now if she would have felt the same if she'd known then what she knew now, or if she'd have instead begged her rescuer to leave her to her watery grave.

Lucy surfaced and gasped for breath. _No, damn it_ — she couldn't allow herself to think along _those_ lines. There _had_ to be a way to change it, to prevent all those dreadful things from happening. If there was one thing that she'd learned in the last year, it was that history — past, present, or future — _definitely_ wasn't fixed: even the slightest change could cause whole chapters of it to be rewritten. The problem was, she had no idea what, exactly, to change in order to produce the desired results. Nor could she do anything, really, without the use of a time machine.

There was no other choice, really. She needed to share the journal with her team, including Agent Christopher and Conor Mason. Well, except for that last page. Though she understood why and appreciated that her future self had included it _(it_ was _the woman's entire motivation for writing the book in the first place)_ , Lucy could see no good coming from anyone else having that knowledge, least of all Wyatt. But the rest of it they _definitely_ needed to know, because the journal wasn't just the story of _her_ future. As it turned out, it was that of her teammates as well. And if they didn't all do something soon to change it, it might be too late. In fact, Lucy suddenly thought, it might _already_ be.

She snatched up the journal from the floor, and flipped back through the pages. Locating the entry about Flynn's arrest, she compared the date on it to that of the following entry. Her breath hitched in her chest. _Dear lord — that was tomorrow!_

Trying not to panic, Lucy retrieved her cellphone from the floor as well _(given Wyatt's recent behavior, she didn't dare go anywhere without it anymore, including the bathroom)_ , and called Agent Christopher. Out of everyone, it was most urgent that the federal agent be made aware of the storm to come. Unfortunately, the woman didn't answer. Uncertain as to how secure a voicemail would be in light of what she'd just read, Lucy kept her message brief and vague. "Please call me as soon as you get this. It's _extremely_ urgent. _Please_!"

Next, she phoned Wyatt. If he were still at Mason Industries, perhaps he'd be able to track down their boss. However, that call, too, rang through to voicemail. Lucy frowned in growing concern. Wyatt always answered her calls — _always_. Even when she'd prefer that he didn't _(like when he was showering —_ _how was she supposed to keep her thoughts from wandering when the man was naked on the other end of the line)_.

Frustrated and confused, Lucy hung up without leaving a message, and tried calling Rufus, Jiya, and finally Mason, all with equally unsuccessful results. What the heck was going on? Those three were nearly as obsessive as Wyatt about answering their phones at all times. So why weren't they answering now? Why wasn't _anyone_ answering now?

Deciding that her best bet was to drive to Mason Industries to try to locate Agent Christopher herself, Lucy clambered from the tub. She was just reaching for a towel when the sound of someone pounding insistently on her front door reached her ears.

Checking the time on her phone, Lucy realized that it was far too early for Wyatt to be there. Though she wasn't expecting anyone else, whoever _was_ at her door clearly wanted her immediate attention. Perhaps one of her neighbors was having some kind of emergency? She hoped that it wasn't that sweet little old lady again from two doors down. The poor thing had already been through so much in the last couple months, what with the broken hip, and the disappearance of her beloved cat.

The journal and its dire predictions momentarily forgotten, Lucy wrapped herself in her favorite silk robe, not even bothering to dry off first. Tying the flimsy garment closed along the way, she sped from the bathroom towards whomever needed her help. As she rounded the corner into the tiled entryway, Lucy slipped, her feet practically flying out from under her. She tumbled to her back, shrieking in pain as her head slammed against the floor. Feeling a bit woozy but undeterred _(slips and falls were practically a way of life for her, given her natural clumsiness)_ she stood up, just in time to hear the unmistakable splinter and crack of her front door being kicked in.

Lucy blinked in astonished bewilderment as, a few seconds later, the one man she'd hoped to never have to see again strode into her home, gun in hand and pointed directly at her. _Well, crap._ Apparently, her future had decided to show up a day early.

"That's quite the interesting look for you, Lucy." His eyes roamed her scantily-clad body appreciatively, and more than a little possessively.

Feeling self-conscious and extremely vulnerable, Lucy clutched at her robe, pulling it as tightly closed as she could.

"We'll definitely have to revisit it soon. But sadly it's not at all appropriate for where we're going." He tossed a small duffle-bag at her feet. "Get dressed."

Lucy hesitated, weighing her options. She could try to run, but he'd most likely catch her _(and then punish her for the attempt)_. On the other hand, if she did as ordered, she'd be precipitating her own doom.

"Now!" he commanded, waggling the gun for emphasis.

Recognizing that she had no real choice at the moment but to comply, Lucy snatched the bag from the floor, and turned back towards the bathroom in hopes of dressing privately.

"Uh-uh." He grabbed her arm, and whirled her back around to face him. "Here, where I can keep an eye on you." Seeing the look of mortification on her face, he laughed derisively. "It's nothing I haven't seen before, Lucy. Now get a move on before you make us late."

Turning her back to him again so that at least she didn't have to see the disgusting leer on his face, Lucy dressed as quickly as possible, all the while wishing that Wyatt _would_ show up early and take this guy out before it was too late. She knew from the journal, however, that her wishes were in vain. At least, having read the book, she had some idea of what to expect in the hours and days to come. If only Wyatt did, too.

As she reached to tie the hiking boots that the man had provided for her, Lucy spotted the trail of water leading from the entryway to the bathroom, punctuated by a small patch of blood from where she'd hit her head. Hopefully, when Wyatt _did_ arrive, it would all still be there. Assuming that he kept his cool _(always questionable in his case)_ , he might just spot it, think to follow it back in search of her, and find the journal. It was really the best that she could hope for now. _Come on, soldier — please don't let me down_ , she pleaded mentally, wishing for all the world that he could somehow hear her thoughts. _Oh, and please don't read that last page_ , she tacked on just in case.


	3. Chapter 3

Though more than willing to put his life on the line for his friends, Wyatt also knew that it would be foolish to race into the conflagration if they weren't _actually_ inside. So before attempting any heroics, he first did a quick recon of the outside perimeter of the complex. Relief couldn't _begin_ to touch how he felt when, rounding into the rear parking lot, he spied a small crowd of Mason's staff gathered there to watch the firefighting crew at work. His relief was short-lived, however, as he took in the remainder of the scene.

At the opposite end of the lot, a large tent surrounded by ambulances had been set up, under which paramedics were busily triaging and treating injured men and women. Wyatt felt terrible for those who had been wounded, but it was what lay to the left of the tent that really set his gut to churning. There, in the spaces normally reserved for oversized vehicles, lay a large grouping of sheet-covered bodies.

Terrified that one _(or all)_ of his friends might be among the deceased, yet even more fearful of learning the terrible truth, Wyatt turned his back on the gruesome sight. _No._ They _had_ to be alive _._ They just _had_ to _._ He'd _know_ if they were gone. He'd _feel_ it, wouldn't he? Purposefully jostling his way through the milling mass of onlookers, Wyatt scanned face after face in search of his teammates, shouting their names repeatedly in turn.

Just as all hope was beginning to wane, he finally spotted Agent Christopher near the outskirts of the gathering, engrossed in what appeared to be a heated argument with half a dozen suited men and women _(fellow agents, by the looks of it)_. Desperate now to know the status of the others, however grim it might be, he sprinted to her side.

"Master Sergeant! Thank God you're here!" She grabbed Wyatt by the shoulder, and dragged him well out of hearing range of anyone who might care to listen in.

Grateful that his boss appeared to be unharmed, yet gravely concerned for the rest of his friends, Wyatt wasted no time on pleasantries. "What happened? Where's the rest of the team?" he demanded.

The agent's hands trembled visibly as she reached to tuck a few loose strands of salt-and-pepper hair behind her ears. "All hell broke loose right after you left, that's what. Flynn somehow escaped custody, and blasted his way in here with some of his guys, ranting about how we needed to move both time machines to a more secure location, evacuate the building, _and_ bring in a bomb squad. Before I could even blink, something exploded in the hangar, Mason pulled the fire alarm, and everyone started scrambling like rats to get out. And that's when the team I had guarding the Mothership…."

She pressed her lips together tightly and shook her head repeatedly, as if unable to believe the words that she herself was about to speak. "They turned on us, Wyatt — just started firing at anything that moved. Jiya…they shot her twice. And then they took Rufus — dragged him into the Mothership at gunpoint. Flynn and his guys managed to take out a few of them, but…." Again she shook her head, dislodging a handful of tears that had gathered in her eyes. "Rittenhouse is now in control of the Mothership, _and_ they made certain that we have no way of following them."

Wyatt reeled at the news, feeling as if he'd utterly failed his team. Things were seriously FUBAR, and he had no idea how to even _begin_ to make them right. How the hell were they going to get Rufus back? Would they even be able to at all?

While he felt fairly certain that Rittenhouse wouldn't kill his friend _(they'd need him to pilot the Mothership)_ Wyatt doubted that that would keep them from torturing the poor man. Especially since Rufus wasn't likely to willingly go along with their demands. Then again, Rufus might cooperate if he believed that doing so would keep his family or his girlfriend safe. "Jiya — is she…did she make it?" Wyatt croaked.

Agent Christopher nodded quickly, and gripped Wyatt's shoulder reassuringly, relieving him of one burden, at least. "She's far from out of the woods, but that girl's a fighter if I've ever seen one. Mason went with her in the ambulance to the hospital about 10 minutes ago. He'll keep us posted."

"And you're _sure_ this was all Rittenhouse? Flynn had _nothing_ to do with it?" Wyatt wanted to be certain of who exactly they were up against _(and who he needed to kill for endangering his friends)_.

"If you mean trying to buy your little rag-tag band of heroes enough time to get out, then _yes_ , I _did_ ," a familiar _(if much-despised)_ masculine voice asserted. "But you can thank our old pals Rittenhouse for the rest."

Wyatt stiffened and whirled to face Flynn. "And how the _hell_ did you know what was going to happen if you had _nothing_ to do with it?" he snarled.

Flynn took a few swift steps backward, giving Wyatt a wide berth. "Lucy's journal," Flynn reminded him, shrugging as if that much should have been obvious.

Meeting Wyatt's questioning gaze, Agent Christopher nodded solemnly in confirmation of Flynn's claim. "Apparently our little Rittenhouse round-up wasn't as successful as we thought. According to Mr. Flynn, we missed all of the biggest players, and as you can see, they're _done_ playing nice."

"So what, we're just trusting Flynn now? The _terrorist_ who's been trying to kill us for the last year?" Wyatt scoffed. "You _do_ realize that he could have warned us a _lot_ sooner that this would happen, including _before_ we pissed Rittenhouse off in the first place? And how is he even _here_ , by the way? Last I heard he was shackled and on his way to a maximum security prison on charges of treason."

"What, after everything we've been through together, you doubt my ability to get out of a simple pair of _handcuffs_?" Flynn feigned hurt feelings. "Besides, thanks to the generous tips from Lucy's journal, I was able to put a few of my guys in place ahead of time to assist. As for trusting me, well, that's entirely up to you, Wyatt. But you know what they say — the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Like it or not, we're fighting on the same side now."

The man made a valid point. Shared enemy or not, though, it would be a cold day in hell before Wyatt _ever_ counted Flynn among his friends. While the current fiasco might not be Flynn's doing, the creep had still kidnapped Lucy, _and_ tried to wipe out the team on multiple occasions. Those weren't the kinds of things that Wyatt could simply forget. "Right. Well don't go adding me to your Christmas card list or anything. If I had my way, I'd have put a bullet through your brain back in D.C."

"Guess it's a good thing for me, then, that Lucy keeps you on such a short leash." Flynn smirked, mocking Wyatt in a babyish voice. "Sit. Stay. Who's a good boy? Who's a good boy? _Wyatt's_ a good boy!"

"You _bastard_!" Wyatt growled, his hands clenching into tight fists. "You don't know the first thing about…."

"That's _enough_ , gentleman!" Agent Christopher interrupted loudly, stepping between the two overgrown boys before things could get any uglier than they already were. "We don't have _time_ for this."

Casting a quelling look towards Flynn, she pulled Wyatt further aside. "Though it pains me to say it, _yes_ — we're going to have to trust Flynn for now, at least to some extent. I'll have extra eyes on him at all times, but the fact is, he's the only one who's read Lucy's journal, and therefore the only one who has the first clue about what Rittenhouse has planned. We _need_ his intel on this, Wyatt, if we're to have any hope of getting Rufus back alive, let alone getting ahead of Rittenhouse."

"So make him hand over the journal," Wyatt argued heatedly, "And then lock his ass back up where it belongs!"

"I can't," Agent Christopher countered, though it was plain from the tone of her voice that she'd like nothing better than to do just that. "He apparently destroyed the journal so that Rittenhouse couldn't get their hands on it."

"That might not be _entirely_ accurate," Flynn interjected from the sidelines, clearly eavesdropping.

Agent Christopher pivoted towards him. "Are you telling me that you _lied_ in your _signed_ confession?" she seethed. "You have exactly two seconds to explain yourself before my agents haul you out of here. And trust me — you _won't_ be escaping this time."

"I, uh, might have actually given the journal to _Lucy_." Flynn admitted, avoiding eye contact with both Agent Christopher and Wyatt. "It seemed only fitting, after all, since _she's_ the one who wrote it — or _will_ write it, anyway."

"What the…?" Wyatt felt as if his heart had plummeted into his stomach. Lucy had the journal? Since when, and why hadn't she said anything to him or Rufus about it? Was she keeping secrets from the team again — somehow working with Flynn behind their backs? Wyatt had thought that they'd long since moved past all that. Had he been _wrong_ to trust her? Perhaps they wouldn't need to have that little talk he'd had planned for tonight after all.

As if reading his thoughts, Flynn _(oddly enough)_ attempted to reassure Wyatt. "Relax, soldier boy. I just gave it to her _today_. I'm sure she plans to tell you about it — maybe even let you read it, once she's had a chance to read it herself. Well, except for..."

He suddenly fell silent, as if lost in thought, or memory, or both. Wyatt and Agent Christopher watched in bewilderment as Flynn's face contorted in what appeared to be extreme pain. Abruptly turning his back on them, he paced slightly away. What was _that_ about, they both wondered, exchanging a questioning glance.

"If Lucy has the journal," Agent Christopher insisted to Wyatt, "And it's as detailed as I've been led to believe, then we need to get it from her ASAP so my agents can start analyzing it, and we can figure out our plan of attack."

"Yeah, about that…," Flynn cleared his throat, and turned back towards them. _(Was Wyatt imagining it, or did the man appear to have been crying?)_ "We should probably get going, because either future Lucy got her dates a little mixed up, or Rittenhouse isn't playing strictly by the book anymore."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Wyatt asked, more than a little confused by Flynn's statement, yet still not liking the sound of it.

"None of this was supposed to happen _today_ ," Flynn clarified, gesturing towards the blaze that was once Mason Industries. "It was just dumb luck, really, that I was already here to warn Agent Christopher when it did. And if _this_ happened early, I can only assume that the rest will, too."

"The rest? _What_ 'rest'?" Wyatt barked, his patience with Flynn's cryptic explanations rapidly dropping into the negative numbers.

"The rest of what future Lucy wrote in her journal. This is only Act 1 of today's play, after all."

Again with the drawn-out explanations. "Damnit, could you just get to the _point_?" Wyatt snapped.

"Lucy. If we don't get to her soon, it might just be too late. Rittenhouse has, shall we say, very _special_ plans for her."

"You son-of-a- _bitch_!" Wyatt shoved past Agent Christopher and grabbed Flynn by the throat, squeezing as hard as possible with both hands until the man's face turned red. "You've _known_ Lucy was in danger all this time, and you just freaking stood here and dicked around with us? Lucky for you I don't have my gun on me right now, or you'd be a dead man!"

Flynn clawed at Wyatt's hands, trying unsuccessfully to dislodge them from his throat.

"Stand _down_ , Master Sergeant. Let the man speak," Agent Christopher ordered, though she, too, was tempted to strangle Garcia Flynn.

"According to what future Lucy wrote," Flynn choked out, gasping for breath as Wyatt finally released his stranglehold on him. "All this went down _tomorrow_ in her timeline — minus my help, of course. Which means Agent Christopher and the rest of the crew were too busy fighting to stay alive to stop one Dr. Noah What's-his-face from stealing away his bride-to-be. Couldn't have Lucy be late to her own wedding, after all. Or the, uh, honeymoon."

Flynn's words exploded like an atomic bomb in Wyatt's newly healed heart. After Jessica's disappearance, and the seemingly endless, sleepless weeks of waiting for news of her, he'd thought that he'd learned everything there was to know about the darkest depths of fear. But the idea that someone could _(or perhaps already had)_ steal _Lucy_ away from him? This was all-new, completely unexplored territory in the realm of terror. Whereas losing Jessica had broken his heart and fractured his soul, losing Lucy might just kill him outright.

Not even waiting to be dismissed by his superior, Wyatt raced back towards his jeep. As far as he was concerned, the rest of this mess — including figuring out how to get Rufus back — could wait. He'd already lost one woman he loved, and he'd be damned if he'd let history repeat itself.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks again for all the positive feedback on this story! We've still got a long ways to go, so I hope you'll hang in there! Just a little bit of a WARNING: there is some non-consensual touching and suggestions of worse in this chapter. Poor Lucy's future isn't looking very bright at the moment, but I promise it _will_ turn around eventually!**

Struggling to maintain the brisk pace that Noah had set for them, Lucy stumbled to her knees for what felt like the hundredth time since they'd started up the trail. As far as wedding traditions went, this symbolic 'Climb to Greatness' that Rittenhouse insisted on for all would-be couples was the stupidest she'd ever heard of — particularly for a bride-to-be as clumsy as she was. About the only positive thing that Lucy could say about the long, steep hike to the mountaintop Rittenhouse headquarters was that every time she took another tumble, it also stalled her abominable destiny a little bit longer.

Noah was far from sympathetic. Unlike her, the man was more than eager to begin his new life, both as her husband, and as part of the elite class of Rittenhouse 'clockmakers'. "Get up, and keep moving!" He pressed the gun to the back of her head. "You don't want to keep our guests waiting, do you?"

The 'guests' _(whoever they turned out to be)_ could wait until they rotted as far as Lucy was concerned, but she scrambled to her feet nonetheless. Though fairly confident that Noah wouldn't _intentionally_ shoot her _(she was far too important to Rittenhouse, not to mention to her so-called fiancé's own despicable aims)_ , she wasn't willing to take the risk.

"How much further?" Lucy panted. While certainly in no hurry to get to the 'festivities' that were soon to be forced upon her, she honestly wasn't sure how much longer she could keep going. Between her recent lack of sleep, and the earlier knock to her head, she was finding it very difficult to keep from collapsing completely.

Of course, Noah's ongoing and increasingly disturbing lecture about their shared Rittenhouse legacy _(including the sickening role that she was now expected to fulfill)_ did nothing to make Lucy feel any steadier on her feet. Nor did the knowledge that three of her dear friends were most likely dead, while Rufus had been pressed into serving Lucy's own evil family. If not for the fact that Wyatt was still alive, free, and sure to come after her, Lucy might already have thrown herself from the mountainside rather than submitting to Noah's will. Then again, it might still come to that.

As much as she hated to do so, Lucy had to face the very real possibility that Wyatt _wouldn't_ find her in time to prevent her marriage to Noah, or her forced alliance with Rittenhouse. That was certainly future Lucy's sad reality as written in the journal, and considering the circumstances, present Lucy had little hope that she'd be able to change that for herself either — at least not right away. Barring Wyatt's timely intervention, she'd need to keep her eyes and ears open, and wait for the right opportunity to present itself for her to escape the insanity that awaited her.

"We're nearly there. Assuming you quit with these pathetic attempts to delay the inevitable, we'll actually make it by sunset," Noah replied snidely. "Honestly, I don't know why you're even bothering. This is your _fate_ , Lucy — yours and mine. There's no fighting that, so you may as well stop trying."

Lucy remained silent, wary of provoking her captor. Not for the first time, however, it occurred to her that Noah didn't know her in the _slightest_. At least not the _new_ her — the strong, independent, fiercely capable woman that Wyatt, Rufus, and the rest of her team had helped her become in the last year. She might have no choice at the moment but to go along with Rittenhouse's plans, but if their corrupt agenda and a life with the creep currently by her side was her 'fate', then she would _never_ stop fighting it. Not that Noah needed to know that. The less he knew about the _real_ her, the greater her chances would be of coming up with some sort of workable plan to rewrite her future, as Wyatt had once suggested she do.

Thinking through various possibilities based on what she already knew, Lucy missed the large rock in her path, and once again tripped. Having lost all tolerance for these delays _(however unintentional they actually were on Lucy's part)_ , Noah hauled her to her feet roughly by one arm, and slung a guiding arm around her back.

"Don't _touch_ me!" Lucy snapped, automatically recoiling from him. Whereas the slightest touch from Wyatt typically made her weak in the knees _(in all the best ways, of course)_ , Noah's inspired nothing but an overwhelming desire to vomit.

Incensed by her rejection, Noah gripped Lucy's face none too gently, forcing her chin up so that she had no choice but to look him in the eyes. "Don't you get it yet, Lucy? You're my _wife_. In case it wasn't already clear, that means you _belong_ to me. You're mine to do whatever the _hell_ I want to for the rest of our lives. So yeah, I'll _touch_ you — whenever, wherever, and _however_ I damn well please," he sneered. As if to make his point, he traced the barrel of the gun suggestively down one side of her neck and over her collarbone to the valley between her breasts.

"I'm not your wife yet, and I'll _never_ 'belong' to you in _any_ way! You _disgust_ me!" Lucy snarled and spit in his face, unable and equally unwilling to placate the man for even a moment longer.

Noah swiped the spittle from his cheek, then squeezed Lucy's face so hard that she was sure it would leave a mark. "Go ahead — fight me all you want. It'll just make it all the sweeter in the end. For _me_ anyway." Releasing her face, he twirled her around, and shoved her in the back, forcing her further along the trail.

If she wasn't terrified before, Lucy was now. The man Rittenhouse had chosen to be her husband was in _no_ way the gentle, sensitive soul that she'd once believed him to be. Rather, he was a monster right out of her worst nightmares, much like the founder of Rittenhouse himself had been.

Lucy flashed back to the one time she'd met David Rittenhouse, an incident that still haunted her dreams from time to time. Mere minutes after being introduced, the man had implied that he planned to use and abuse Lucy in all the same ways that Noah was now suggesting. If not for Rufus showing up when he had, who knew what would have become of her. No doubt, her dear friend had spared her from a life of mental and physical torture. Unfortunately, as it turned out, he'd only bought her a temporary reprieve. She was essentially right back where she'd started, wasn't she? Only this time, Rufus wouldn't be there to kick down the door, shotgun at the ready, to rescue her, would he?

Refusing to be ruled by fear _("Fear's not real," Harry Houdini had once coached her)_ , Lucy continued to ponder possible ways of extricating herself from her current predicament, if not today then as soon as humanly possible. _("Escape, escape, escape." Once again, Harry's words of wisdom raced through her mind.)_

"Finally!" Noah exclaimed a few minutes later as they turned a bend in the trail and the summit came into view.

Lucy scanned the mountaintop. With the sun just beginning to set in the distance, the view would normally have been quite breathtaking. Instead, it was marred by the presence of a large crowd of solemn-faced Rittenhouse members _(doubtless those 'guests' of whom Noah had earlier spoken)_ , including — front-and-center — Lucy's own mother. Lucy couldn't help but notice that, unlike the others, Carol Preston was currently beaming as if her every wish had finally come true.

Though she'd known from the journal to expect this, nothing could ever have truly prepared Lucy for the reality that her own _mother_ – the same woman who had sung her to sleep as a toddler, who had kissed her skinned knees every time her innate clumsiness got the better of her, who had consoled her every time a boy she'd had a crush on hadn't returned her feelings – was a cult-loving sociopath bent on remaking the world in a monster's image.

Noah gripped one of Lucy's hands tightly, and dragged her the remaining small distance, stopping when they reached Lucy's mother.

Carol Preston eyed the couple intently, the smile that Lucy found disturbing on every level never once leaving her face. "Congratulations," she spoke first to Noah. "You've completed every task set before you successfully, and earned your just reward. Tonight, when the clock strikes twelve, you'll be united in marriage to my daughter, whose blood is every bit as pure as yours. Together you will join the ranks of the clockmakers, and assume the roles for which you've been destined since our beneficent founder, David Rittenhouse, set the very first clock in motion."

"Long live the clockmakers!" Noah replied. With a quick bow to the mother of the bride-to-be, Noah departed – to prepare himself for the upcoming ceremony, Lucy assumed.

Carol then turned to Lucy, and took both of her daughter's hands in hers. "Oh Lucy, I'm _so_ proud of you! You're _finally_ living up to your potential, just as I always _knew_ you would!"

Lucy tugged her hands free, feeling betrayed in every way, and wanting no contact whatsoever with the woman she'd once adored and idolized. "How could you _do_ this to me, Mom — your _own_ daughter? How could you condemn me to this life of…of…."

"It's your _destiny_ , Lucy, just as it was once mine," Carol explained, as if she thought that was all that Lucy needed to hear in order to accept it all. "Surely you realize that by now? The women of Rittenhouse — we're the only ones capable of furthering the line, Lucy, and we _must_. But don't worry, sweetheart. Once you fulfill your duties, and provide Noah with an heir, you'll be free to live your life however you choose. Within certain parameters, of course. Naturally we can't have you associating with those _cretins_ at Mason Industries anymore. That wouldn't reflect well on _any_ of us, would it?"

"Every one of those 'cretins', as you call them, is _ten_ _times_ the person you could _ever_ hope to be, Mom," Lucy asserted loudly, not at all concerned with who might hear her, or how her words might 'reflect' on her mother. "Unlike _you_ , apparently, _they_ actually know what it means to love someone, to _care_ about their well-being — to the point where any one of them would risk their life just to ensure my safety. Do you have _any_ idea how many times in the last year they've done just that? Or how many times they've helped me pick up the pieces after you tried to destroy my sanity with your sleazy, self-centered scheming? You _took_ my sister away from me, for God's sake, and let me think it was _my_ fault that she was gone! What kind of mother _does_ that to her child?"

"Really, Lucy. Stop being so dramatic. I understand that this is a lot to take in at once. It was for me, too, when my turn came. But I promise you that I have only your best interests at heart, sweetheart, just as I _always_ have. Trust me, someday you'll thank me for this."

"I will _never_ thank you for this," Lucy growled. "With my dying breath, I'll be cursing your name!"

Carol shrugged as if to say that Lucy's opinion of her as a person was of no import whatsoever. As long as Rittenhouse got what it needed, that was really all that mattered, wasn't it? "Come — we need to prepare you for tonight. We can't exactly have the mother of the next generation of clockmakers looking like _this_ on her wedding day, can we?"

Lucy screamed every ounce of her pain _(mental and physical)_ aloud as her mother gripped her arm tightly and dragged her, very much against her will, into the morally reprehensible world that she now knew to be Rittenhouse. If not for the two armed guards that followed them every step of the way into the Rittenhouse headquarters, Lucy might very well have finally thrown herself off the mountainside. As much as she wanted to live, she had _no_ desire whatsoever to live like _this_.


	5. Chapter 5

Rufus paced back and forth in the small, stark room, and tried his hardest not to panic. Boy, he could sure use one of Wyatt's no-nonsense pep talks right about now!

The thing was, he wasn't even supposed to _be_ here. He should be out for a hard-earned evening of fun with his three favorite people, halfway through his third glass of rum _(at least),_ and well on his way to winning that bet with Jiya. He should be relishing his beautiful girlfriend's half-drunken giggles as they cracked lame pirate jokes and watched Wyatt and Lucy make heart eyes at each other across the table every time they thought the other wasn't looking. He sure as hell _shouldn't_ be locked in a godforsaken room at Rittenhouse headquarters — a prisoner to the very organization that they had all worked so hard to destroy.

How much longer would they keep him in this room? Surely they'd at least let him out to pee at some point, wouldn't they? Unless they planned to just leave him there to rot altogether. No, that couldn't possibly be the case. If Rittenhouse wanted him dead, they'd have killed him already, just as they had Jiya.

Jiya…. As much as he loved her _(or, rather,_ because _he did),_ Rufus couldn't afford to let himself think about what had happened to her yet. If he did, he knew that he'd fall apart completely, and what good would that do anyone? Right now he just needed to focus on finding a way out, and on getting back to the rest of his team. Assuming, of course, that there was anyone still alive _for_ him to get back to.

His heart clenching agonizingly at that thought, Rufus wandered to the solitary window in the room. Resting his cheek against the cool metal bars, he closed his eyes, and gulped at the minuscule amount of fresh air that the small opening to the outside world provided.

 _"I will_ never _thank you for this! With my dying breath, I'll be cursing your name!"_

Rufus' weary eyes flew open at the sound of a voice nearly as familiar as his own. Was that…? No, it couldn't _possibl_ y be — not _here_. Could it?

Angling his head to try to get a better view, he searched for the source of the furious words that he could swear he'd just heard. "Lucy?" he shouted. "Lucy! Is that you?"

Though unable to see anyone _(the window was impossibly small)_ , the anguished screams that soon followed told Rufus everything that he needed to know. Lucy was indeed here and, much like him, apparently in serious trouble.

He continued to holler her name repeatedly through the narrow bars, on the off-chance that she'd hear him. Even if they couldn't reach each other at the moment, he hoped that she'd at least recognize his voice, and know that she wasn't alone. While he was deeply concerned for her, Rufus also found a small measure of comfort in knowing that his friend was nearby.

"Rufus? Rufus, help! Please, Rufus!" Lucy finally replied, her abject terror more than evident in the tone of her voice.

He hadn't thought that his heart could possibly break any further. However, hearing the woman who was the closest thing that he had to a sister scream his name in such desperation, and realizing that there was nothing that he could do to help her, proved Rufus wrong. _Freaking Rittenhouse!_ Damn it, he had to get out of this place _now_. And somehow, he needed to get Lucy out, too.

Scanning the spartan room for the umpteenth time for some semblance of a tool — _any_ tool — that would allow him to escape, Rufus' eyes finally settled thoughtfully on the cot that his captors had 'generously' provided for him to sleep on. Flipping the flimsy bed upside down, he was pleased to see that his suspicions were correct. The thin mattress was strapped to the metal framework with a series of wires and springs.

If he could just work one of those wires loose, perhaps he could use it to pick the lock on the door. And if he could pick the lock on the door, he could get out and try to find Lucy. And if by some miracle Rittenhouse didn't catch and kill them both, then they'd be home free, because for once in the last year he knew _exactly_ where the Mothership was.

It wasn't much of a plan, especially since _(unlike Wyatt)_ Rufus had absolutely _no_ idea how to pick a lock. But it was all that he had at the moment, and it was certainly better than driving himself to a nervous breakdown while waiting around to see what Rittenhouse would do to him _(or what they might already be doing to Lucy)_.

Not caring in the slightest about whatever damage it might do to his hands, Rufus quickly set to work freeing one of the tightly-wrapped wires from the framework of the cot. He'd just finally managed to loosen one end of it when the door to the room swung open, and the same two agents who'd forced him to steal the Mothership _('John' and 'Mel', they'd called each other earlier)_ stepped inside, their guns both pointed directly at him _(again)_.

"Is the bed not to your liking, Mr. Carlin?" Mel arched an eyebrow at him as she leaned over to inspect his handiwork.

"What? Oh. I was, uh, just…uh…." Rufus tried but failed to come up with a reasonably innocent explanation for why he'd been trying to strip the wire from the overturned cot.

"Save it," Mel interrupted tersely. "Just an FYI, though, the locks on all the doors here are electronic, _and_ electrified when activated. So unless you prefer death by electrocution to our fine hospitality, I suggest you relax and enjoy your stay."

Rufus grimaced. _Great._ There went _that_ plan, however lame it might have been. He definitely had _no_ desire to die today, by electrocution or any other method. So now what was he going to do?

"Well, come on then," Mel waved him towards the door. "Time for you to earn your keep."

Concerned that the woman might just shoot him if he refused to cooperate _(she'd already proven how trigger-happy she was when she'd opened fire on Mason's staff earlier_ ), Rufus followed her into the hallway, and back towards the Mothership.

Surreptitiously studying his two captors, he noticed that they had changed clothes since he'd last seen them. Whereas earlier they'd been wearing U.S. Army uniforms, they were now sporting San Diego Sheriff's Department uniforms. Apparently Rittenhouse was big on the whole 'playing dress-up through time' thing, too. _Oh goody!_

"So let me guess: you want me to help you steal some police cars now, too?" Rufus deadpanned as he climbed aboard the Mothership and buckled himself into the pilot's chair. Though he knew better than to expect any Rittenhouse mission to be so relatively benign, that didn't stop him from _hoping_ that it would.

"Maybe next time," Mel replied sardonically. "This time you're taxiing us to 2012 and back."

"2012?" Alarmed, Rufus swiveled in his seat to face her. "You _can't_ be serious! Sorry, but no can do," he argued, shaking his head vehemently. "We can NOT go back to any time where we've already been – it's way too dangerous!"

"Those are the orders. Or do the lives of your mother and brother mean _nothing_ to you?" She smiled cruelly, waving her gun in Rufus' face so that the meaning of her threat was abundantly clear.

"You don't _understand_!" Rufus insisted frantically. "I'd do it if I could. But what you're asking — it's suicide. We're talking a 99.9999% chance that we won't make it back to the present at _all_ , and even if we do, it'll be in a million pieces — _each_. They'll _literally_ be scraping us out of our seats!"

Undeterred by what she felt certain were merely stall tactics on his part, Mel pressed the barrel of her gun to Rufus' temple, and repeated her earlier statement. "Those are the orders."

Geez, the woman was starting to sound like an automaton, Rufus thought. Then again, maybe she _was_ — a Rittenhouse automaton, programmed to do the evil bidding of her masters, regardless of the consequences. " _Whose_ orders?" he asked, growing bolder out of simple desperation. "Because _clearly_ they don't understand how this time travel stuff works. If you'd just let me talk to them, I'd be more than happy to explain…."

"Carol freaking Preston's, of course — who _else_?" John interjected bitterly.

"John!" Mel snapped.

"What?" John rolled his eyes at her. "That bitch has no qualms about putting everybody _else's_ lives in danger, as long as _she_ gets what she wants, and you expect me to just go along quietly?"

"Those are the orders," Mel reiterated.

As irritated as he was with Mel's continued casual use of that phrase in relation to the likelihood of all of them dying horribly, Rufus was far more concerned with the huge revelatory bomb that John had just dropped. "Carol _Preston_? As in world-renowned historian and anthropologist slash Stanford University professor Carol Preston? You're saying _she's_ Rittenhouse?"

John nodded as he fumbled with the buckles of his own safety harness. "Head honcho, no less. In other words, what she says goes, even if the orders don't make sense."

 _Well shit_. Lucy's mom was Rittenhouse, too — not just her dad? That certainly cast things in an all-new light, didn't it? Who knew how much Lucy had unwittingly shared with her mother about Mason Industries, the 'time team', and their missions to preserve history over the course of the last year? Not that Rufus blamed Lucy in any way. Clearly she hadn't known any more about her mother's true loyalties than the rest of the team had. Still, it explained a few things, didn't it?

"That's _enough_ , John," Mel warned through clenched teeth.

Despite her warning, John — clearly discontent with the status quo — continued to chatter as casually as if Rufus were his best friend, rather than the enemy POW that he actually was. "Take _this_ mission, for instance. Going back in time to pick up a guest for her daughter's wedding — _seriously_? What's Carol got against hiring a limo, or calling an Uber like the rest of us? I swear, if it weren't for the fact that…."

A sinking feeling of dread settled in Rufus' stomach at the words 'her daughter's wedding'. "Wait. _Who_ did you say is getting married?"

"Carol's daughter, Lucy — A.K.A. 'the Runaway Bride'. The freaking wedding's already been postponed twice because Lucy kept disappearing without telling her fiancé where she was going. But not this time. Carol's got a plan to make sure…."

Rufus felt the gun pull away from his head a scant half-second before the near-deafening sound of gunfire reverberated throughout the cockpit. He recoiled in horror as John slumped forward in his seat, blood oozing from a dime-sized hole in his head.

"I warned you, asshole." Mel unbuckled John from his seat, and rolled his body unceremoniously out through the hatch and onto the hangar floor. "Anymore questions?" She turned her gun back on Rufus, the look in her eyes clearly conveying that, as far as _she_ was concerned, the Q&A session was over.

Rufus shook his head almost imperceptibly, barely able to move, let alone speak, for fear of being executed on the spot.

"Good. Then let's get going. Ms. Preston is _really_ looking forward to having this particular guest at the wedding, and trust me, Mr. Carlin: you do _not_ want to disappoint her."

Rufus' hands trembled as he entered the coordinates for the date and location that Mel had recited to him. Unlike the last time he'd faced near-certain death, he felt no desire whatsoever for 'one last Chocodile'. Rather, all that he could think about now were his family and friends. What he wouldn't give to be able to thank his mom one more time for the sacrifices that she'd made to raise him…to cheer for his brother again as he made the game-winning basket…to see the way Jiya's eyes lit up when he told her that he loved her, or how they smoldered with passion when he kissed her…to finally hear Wyatt openly admit his feelings for Lucy…to be wrapped up tightly in one of Lucy's overly enthusiastic hugs.

"Well, what are you _waiting_ for?" Mel demanded.

"Just giving you a minute to say your goodbyes and last prayers," Rufus muttered dejectedly underneath his breath as he pressed the button that would either make scientific history or make _him_ history. On the bright side, at least if he died, Rittenhouse would no longer have a pilot, which meant they wouldn't be able to use time travel to further their psychotic world view. As far as legacies went, Rufus supposed that there were far worse ones that he could leave behind.


	6. Chapter 6

"Wyatt! You need to take Flynn with you as back-up," Agent Christopher bellowed as she chased after the single-minded soldier. While she admired his fierce loyalty and protective nature _(those exact qualities being a large part of why she'd selected him for her team in the first place)_ , this situation was _far_ too dangerous for him to handle alone.

Fear for the woman he loved coursing through his veins, Wyatt continued to make his way towards his jeep, steadfastly ignoring his boss's every word. The _last_ person he wanted to have to deal with right now was Flynn. The asshole had known all along what was coming. Worse, he'd taunted them with his knowledge of pretty much everything _except_ this. If anything bad happened to Lucy, Wyatt would hunt him to the ends of the earth — _count on it_.

"Wyatt, _listen_ to me! You have no idea what you're heading into!" Agent Christopher persisted. "Rittenhouse has targets on all of our backs now, and getting yourself killed won't do Lucy or anyone else any good!"

Wyatt honestly couldn't care less what Rittenhouse did to _him_ , as long as Lucy was safe. After all, he had no delusions about his own worth. From birth, it seemed, all that he'd ever done was cause pain, suffering, and disappointment to the people around him. Time and again he'd failed those who depended on him, this latest disaster being proof enough of that.

But Lucy… _she_ was different. Whereas he was darkness — an emotional black hole of sorts — Lucy was a light brighter than any 10 suns combined. The team, the world, history...none of them needed Wyatt, but they _definitely_ needed Lucy. And if his life were the price required to ensure that, then Wyatt would gladly pay it, in a heartbeat.

"Master Sergeant, I am ORDERING you to stop NOW!" Desperate to get his attention, Agent Christopher called upon the one tactic that she knew would work: a direct order. No soldier worth his salt, least of all one as dedicated as Wyatt, would fail to respond to _that_.

Resentful of every wasted second, but fully cognizant of the repercussions of defying his boss's directives, Wyatt skidded to a halt and whirled to face her. "With all due respect, ma'am, there's no _freaking_ way I'm taking Flynn along. You heard him — Rittenhouse is after Lucy, and he's known it this _whole damn time_!"

"I hear you, Wyatt, I do," she sympathized. "And believe me, if I could put a bullet through Garcia Flynn's head right now without jeopardizing all of our safety, I would. But lacking Lucy's journal, he's the only resource we've got. Like it or not, if you want to save her, you _need_ his help."

As hard as he'd tried to fight it, Wyatt couldn't prevent the tears that had been gathering in his eyes from spilling over onto his cheeks. "I already almost lost her once because of him. I can't…I just can't…."

"You're not going to lose her, Wyatt. I promise," Agent Christopher reassured him softly, as if attempting to soothe a spooked horse. Contrary to what her co-workers thought, she was fully aware of the budding romance between Wyatt and Lucy. Moreover, she fully supported it. However, unlike the rest of the crew, she was also perfectly familiar with the circumstances of Wyatt's wife's death. As such, she recognized that the fears now at play in his mind and heart extended far beyond their current predicament or his growing affection for the team historian.

"You don't _know_ that!" Wyatt snapped. "If I don't get to her in time, who _knows_ what Rittenhouse will do to her. And _he's_ no better! How do I know that this isn't just some ploy on his part to try to hurt her again?" He buried his face in his hands in a belated attempt to hide his anguish.

"Wyatt," Flynn approached him cautiously, recognizing that his was the last opinion that the angst-ridden man wanted to hear at the moment. "I have absolutely no intention of trying to hurt Lucy. I admit that I lost my head for a bit after what happened in 1780, but it's just because I miss my girls _so damn much_. Losing them to Rittenhouse…it annihilated me, just as I know losing Jessica destroyed you. But I see now that I was wrong to do what I did. Future Lucy entrusted your safety to me, and I promise I won't let her down again."

"What are you saying?" Wyatt rasped, barely able to push the words past his throat.

"I'm saying save your anger for the _actual_ bad guys, Wyatt. It's going to take _both_ of us working together to save Lucy and bring Rittenhouse down for good, and I have that on Lucy's own authority. So please, trust me on this, and let's go get your girl back."

Though unable to bring himself to look Flynn in the eyes, Wyatt nodded his head decisively, and gestured for the man to follow him to his jeep.

"Good luck, gentleman. Keep me posted," Agent Christopher called after them as she watched them go. Though she'd never admit it out loud, she was thrilled to finally have Wyatt Logan and Garcia Flynn fighting side by side. Against the two of them, Rittenhouse surely didn't stand a chance.

* * *

The sight of Lucy's mangled, busted-down front door said it all: they were too late, damn it!

"We need to find her journal. Hopefully it's still here," Flynn barked as they pushed into the apartment, guns at the ready, just in case. More than anyone else, Flynn knew _exactly_ what was at stake if they didn't find Lucy soon. "I don't remember all the details, but I do remember that she wrote about where the wedding took place. Where do you think she'd have put it?"

"Maybe her office?" Wyatt replied, scanning the entryway and the adjacent rooms for any signs of present danger. Seeing none, he tucked his gun back into its holster.

"Since I assume you know where that is, you check there. I'll look around out here." Flynn systematically started ransacking the living room, overturning the couch cushions and anything else that he could find that might possibly be hiding the book in question.

Wyatt started briskly towards the hallway, but halted in alarm when a crimson-colored patch on the tiled floor caught his eye. _Was that…?_ He leaned down and touched a fingertip to the spot. It was still slightly wet and, upon closer examination, most definitely blood.

Terror and rage raced, neck-and-neck, through his entire body. _If that bastard Noah had hurt her…._ He snorted humorlessly. Either way the man was going to die, but if he'd _hurt_ Lucy, then Wyatt would be sure to make it as slow and excruciatingly painful as possible.

Swallowing hard repeatedly in an attempt to keep his emotions in check _(it wouldn't do Lucy any good for him to lose his head now)_ , he resumed his trek towards the office, keeping his eyes trained closely on the floor for other clues as to what might have happened before his and Flynn's arrival. His diligence paid off when he spotted a trail of small puddles of water leading into the bathroom.

He pushed the bathroom door open, and surveyed the room, his eyes locking on the still-full bathtub. Impulsively he ran his fingers through the standing water _(ice cold – it had clearly been a while since Lucy had abandoned her bath)_. He regretted the action immediately, though, as the unmistakable scent of roses _(a smell he automatically associated with Lucy)_ wafted towards his nose. _Not_ _now_ _, Logan_ , he admonished himself as unbidden images of her wearing nothing but bubbles flitted through his mind.

Seeing no signs of struggle there _(and needing to get away from the highly distracting mental assault)_ , he turned to exit the room, but paused as he spied Lucy's cellphone laying on the counter next to a small notebook. He pocketed her phone, and examined the book more closely, his fingers tracing the worn but familiar 'LP' engraved in the lower right corner of the cover. Yes, this was definitely the book from which Flynn had once read to him. "I found it!" he shouted excitedly, and hurried back towards the front of the apartment.

Flynn met Wyatt halfway up the hall, and snatched the journal from his hands. As familiar as he was with the book already, it didn't take more than a few seconds for him to locate the entry they needed. "Mount Tamalpais. That's where the Rittenhouse headquarters are, and that's where Noah took her – to the top of Mount Tamalpais."

"What? But I've _been_ there. There's nothing at the top but a small visitor's center." Doubtful, Wyatt grabbed the journal back from Flynn, needing to see for himself that what the man had said was true.

"A visitor's center that also happens to double as Rittenhouse headquarters. What better way to hide than in plain sight, right?"

"Apparently," Wyatt agreed, having seen the proof now in Lucy's own handwriting. Wanting to get a better idea of what they'd be walking into, he flipped to the next page in the book. His whole body began to tremble, and tears once again stung at the back of his eyes as he read the words that Lucy had written there. There was no question about it now – he was _definitely_ going to kill Noah as slowly and excruciatingly painfully as possibly. "We need to go. NOW!" Wyatt grabbed Flynn by the shoulder, and dragged him towards what remained of the front door.

Seeing and understanding the man's terror, Flynn insisted on driving. Wyatt had already proven to be a bit of a reckless driver on the way to Lucy's apartment _(not that Flynn blamed him, under the circumstances)_ , and in his current mental and emotional state, chances were high that, if Wyatt were allowed to drive, they'd wreck long before they ever reached Lucy.

Though his natural instinct was to balk at the offer _(nobody had ever driven his precious jeep but him and his grandpa Sherwin)_ , Wyatt, too, recognized that he was in no shape at the moment to drive. Reluctantly but sensibly handing over the keys to Flynn, he raced to the passenger side, and buckled himself in.

"I know a few side roads that will save us some time," Flynn reassured Wyatt as he peeled out of the parking lot. "Don't worry, we still have a couple hours until the actual ceremony. We'll make it in time – I promise."

Wyatt nodded solemnly, appreciative of the man's cool-headedness, not to mention his apparent understanding of the desperate urgency of the situation. Who would have ever thought that a day would come when he would feel thankful in the _slightest_ for Garcia Flynn? If the man actually followed through on his promises to help rescue Lucy and destroy Rittenhouse, Wyatt might even consider forgiving him for all the terrible things that he'd done. Maybe. Eventually.

Mentally relinquishing the task of getting them to their destination in one piece and as quickly as possible to Flynn, Wyatt closed his eyes, leaned back in his seat, and tried unsuccessfully to focus on the calming feeling of the coastal fog rushing past his face. But it was no use. No matter how hard he tried to avoid it, his mind just kept drifting, like a tongue to a sore tooth, to thoughts of all of the things that that monster Noah and Lucy's demon of a mother might be doing to her right now. Things _no_ woman – no _person_ – should ever have to endure.

"You know," Flynn ventured, once again seeming to sense the direction of Wyatt's thoughts, "You should probably use this time to read the journal. It's the best weapon we have against Rittenhouse right now, and the more you know of what to expect, the better our chances will be of rescuing Lucy and coming out of this alive."

Still thoroughly rattled by the little bit of it that he'd already read, Wyatt wasn't at all certain that he could handle another go at Lucy's journal. At the same time, he knew that Flynn was right – if he was going to be of any use to Lucy at all _(and he_ had _to be –_ _he couldn't lose her – he just_ couldn't _),_ then he needed to know exactly what they were up against.

Using his cellphone as a flashlight, Wyatt reopened the journal, determined to make his way through it for Lucy's sake, no matter how gut-wrenching the events she described there might be. Several pages later, however, he slammed it closed again. How could _any_ of this, let alone _all_ of it, possibly be true? How had future Lucy managed to survive it? How had she restrained herself from putting a bullet through her own head?

Between the abuse heaped on him throughout his childhood by his alcoholic father, the ravages of serving in multiple wars, and the brutal murder of his wife, Wyatt had experienced more than his fair share of horrific things in his relatively short lifetime. Yet _nothing_ he'd endured thus far compared to the utter brutality of future Lucy's life as described in her journal. God, it couldn't _all_ have been that bad, could it?

Determined to find even the smallest bright spot, the slightest glimmer of hope to cling to, Wyatt flipped to the last page of the journal. Surely things had to have _eventually_ turned around for Lucy, right? Fate, the universe, the Force – they couldn't possibly be so cruel, could they?

Less than a minute later, Wyatt found himself leaning out the window, violently spewing the meager contents of his stomach along the highway. "Drive FASTER!" he growled, barely getting the words out before the overwhelming terror of what the future held _–_ both for Lucy _and_ for him _–_ had him heaving once again.

Flynn glanced over at his partner-in-arms sympathetically, knowing right away which page Wyatt had just read. Damn it, he'd meant to tear that last page out before they left the apartment, but in the heat of the moment, he'd completely forgotten. He prayed that future Lucy would forgive him for breaking her trust, for breaking his promise to _never_ let Wyatt read that page. Truth be told, though, Flynn should never have made that promise to begin with, and he realized that now.

How many lives could have been saved along the way if he'd simply told Wyatt the truth to start with? How many conflicts and altercations could have been avoided? If only he'd used his common sense instead of clinging to a promise born of grief and desperation... Either way, at least now Wyatt finally knew the truth. He finally understood _exactly_ what they were up against, and why it was so important that they take Rittenhouse down. Whether future Lucy ever forgave him for revealing that truth or not, Flynn couldn't bring himself to feel guilty about it. After all, it wasn't just _her_ future _–_ had _never_ been just _her_ future _–_ that was on the line.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: My sincerest apologies for the extremely long delay in updating this story _(I'm looking at you, Adriana - LOL!)_. it was _never_ my intention to leave this hanging. However, my best friend passed away over the summer, and that naturally put me in a dismal place, which started to bleed through into my writing. Thanks to a dear fellow writer and friend _(you know who you are!)_ I realized I needed to set this fic aside until I was in a better place. As always, thanks for all the follows/favorites/reviews - they mean so much to me - and most especially, thank you for your PATIENCE! And now, back to your previously scheduled story! :-)**

Fists, eyes, and jaw clenched as tightly as possible, Rufus waited in dreadful anticipation of his own grisly demise. Two minutes later, he was still waiting…and waiting… _and_ waiting. Finally daring to crack his eyes open, he surveyed his surroundings. Something was _definitely_ not as it should be. Either the afterlife looked _remarkably_ like the interior of the Mothership, or he was still _alive_. How in the world had _that_ happened?

Every other attempt by Mason Industries to send someone back to a time where they'd previously existed had thus far proven disastrous _(spectacularly so)_. So why had it worked _this time_? As a scientist, Rufus wanted nothing more than to spend the next several hours pouring over the ship's data in hopes of figuring that out. However, given that Mel was, once again, pointing a gun at his head, his research would obviously have to wait. _Damn her!_

"Thought you said we were going to die," the Rittenhouse agent taunted him, a gloating sneer plastered to her face.

"Yeah well, the day's still young, so don't go making any plans for tomorrow just yet," Rufus grumbled. As terrible as it was, he'd sincerely hoped that their jump to 2012 – a year that, according to every known law of the universe, they had absolutely _no_ business revisiting – would cause the woman's head to explode into a thousand pieces _(or more)_. _Bummer!_

"Let's go," Mel abruptly commanded, ignoring Rufus' facetious remark altogether. Pressing the door release button, she waved him towards the open hatch.

Having no other choice at the moment but to comply, Rufus stepped past her and scrambled to the ground below. Expecting to emerge into the bright sunshine of a southern California day, he was startled to find that they'd arrived in the middle of a rather chilly night instead. Even more surprising, however, was the discovery that they'd landed directly alongside a well-lit, double-lane road in what appeared to be a light residential area. Based on the total lack of vehicles on the road, and the darkened windows of the scattered houses, Rufus concluded that the hour must be pretty late. Still, day or night, early or late, it was a rather risky place to park the Mothership, wasn't it?

"So, I take it that you're not at all worried, then, about someone spotting us out here and, you know, calling the cops or something?" Rufus asked. "Because even in California, a giant, white, metal orb with flashing lights appearing out of nowhere on the side of the road isn't exactly an everyday occurrence."

"We won't be here long enough for it to matter," Mel stated dismissively as she, too, clambered from the time machine. "Besides," she gestured to the police uniform that she was currently sporting, "If there's any sort of problem, I _am_ 'the cops'."

"OK then." Rufus couldn't exactly argue with her logic. If nothing else, he supposed that Mel could _(and, no doubt, would_ _)_ simply _shoot_ anybody who came along asking questions that might jeopardize their current mission. "And where, exactly, are we supposed to find whoever it is we came here for?"

"Right here," Mel replied. Leaning casually against the side of the Mothership, she raised her wrist to check the time on her watch. "She knows where to find us, and should be along any minute now."

"Well _that's_ convenient. And, like, totally _not_ weird at all." How would this supposed 'wedding guest' that Carol Preston had ordered them to pick up know when and where to expect them to be, or even _to_ expect them at all, Rufus wondered. It wasn't as if Rittenhouse could simply pick up the phone and make arrangements with someone six years in the past, was it? Even if they _could_ , why would they bother? Unless, perhaps, this mysterious 'she' didn't _exist_ in the present? So, what – he and Mel were here to taxi some _dead_ woman to 2018, then – just so whoever-she-was could attend Lucy's _(absolutely bogus)_ wedding? "Who exactly did you say we were here to get?" Rufus prodded, trying to make sense of it all.

"I didn't. Guess you'll just have to wait and see," Mel replied somewhat cryptically.

She winked at him then, a wide, knowing sort of 'Cheshire cat' grin spreading across her face that sent actual chills up Rufus' spine, and set alarm bells to ringing inside his head. Who the _heck_ were they there to meet, and why did he get the distinct impression that he _wasn't_ going to like the answer to that question?

With nothing else to do now but wait, and needing to somehow calm his rattled nerves, Rufus allowed his thoughts to drift back to the question of how exactly he and Mel had survived the trip to 2012.

To the best of his knowledge, he'd done nothing differently in setting up _this_ jump than what the other pilots who'd tried traveling back into their own timelines had done. Yet not a single one of those other pilots had survived. _Why?_ Had Rufus inadvertently altered one of the Mothership's operational equations? Could the other pilots, perhaps, have made fatal errors in their own coding sequences?

Regardless of the reason for it, Rufus felt incredibly grateful to still be alive. Aside from the obvious fact that he very much enjoyed _not_ being a corpse, his survival meant that there was still a chance that he could somehow rescue Lucy from whatever dismal future Rittenhouse _(including Lucy's own mother, for chrissake – Rufus was still struggling to wrap his mind around that one)_ intended for her.

Thanks to Mel's now-deceased _(by Mel's own hand)_ partner John, Rufus now knew _something_ , at least, of Lucy's predicament – namely that she was soon to be married. Though John hadn't specifically named Lucy's groom-to-be, Rufus had easily deduced that it was Noah, the same previously-unknown-to-Lucy fiancé who'd appeared out of nowhere after the failed Hindenburg mission. Given the fact that Lucy's mother had not only sanctioned but was also _forcing_ the marriage, that must mean that Noah, too, was Rittenhouse _(and, as Wyatt had insisted all along, a major_ _douchebag_ ). Rufus should really have let Wyatt shoot the man when he had the chance.

What Rufus couldn't figure out for the life of him, though, was the _why_ of it all. _Why_ was it so important to Rittenhouse that Lucy marry Noah, or anyone at all for that matter?

Compared to all of the morally reprehensible things that Rufus had come to expect of Rittenhouse, an arranged marriage seemed rather… _benign_. Not that he would ever wish that sort of thing on anyone – not against their will, at any rate. And since Lucy was in love with Wyatt, marriage to anyone _other_ than Wyatt would most certainly be against her will. Still, it seemed to him that the marriage itself must just be a very small part of a _much_ bigger picture.

Either way, Rufus needed to get Lucy away from Rittenhouse, before _any_ part of that picture materialized. Though he still didn't have the first clue about _how_ to do that, he did know one thing: as Wyatt had recently taken to saying, it was "one problem at a time." And right now, Rufus' most pressing problem _wasn't_ Rittenhouse holding _Lucy_ captive, but rather the trigger-happy Rittenhouse agent currently holding _him_ captive. In other words, he had to ditch the witch, and _soon_. Again, though: _how_?

Rufus was so caught up in his thoughts of how he might possibly rid himself of Mel that he completely failed to notice the arrival of their mystery guest until she squealed and pulled him into a hug.

"Rufus Carlin, as I live and breathe! Did you miss me, sugar?"

Rufus' breath hitched almost painfully in his chest at the sound of a voice that he hadn't heard _(outside of his nightmares)_ in three years. He quickly backpedaled, freeing himself from her grasp. "A-A-Amanda?" he stuttered as he gaped, wide-eyed, at the blonde-haired apparition now standing in front of him. "But…b-but how? You died! I…I _saw_ you die!"

And Rufus had – over and over again, in high-definition detail, courtesy of the in-flight video recorder that had captured every gut-wrenching second of her doomed jump to the year 2000. Amanda Carlisle, super genius and by far the youngest member of Mason Industries' original time travel research team, had been the very first pilot to attempt to travel back into her own past. She had also been the first to fail in the worst possible way, or so Rufus had believed for the last three years.

"Surprise – I got better!" Amanda joked, reaching for him again and rubbing his shoulders affectionately. "Seriously, though, how _are_ you, Rufus? How's the rest of the team at M.I.? Lord, I can't even _begin_ to tell you how much I've missed y'all. This whole 'secret agent' thing wasn't half as much fun as Carol Preston led me to believe it would be." She chuckled ironically. "Can you even _imagine_ it, Rufus – _me_ as a _soldier's wife_? Most days it was all I could do to keep from eating my own gun out of sheer boredom. But hey, orders are orders, and if this is what was necessary to repair the loop, then it was totally worth it, right? So come on, don't hold out on me, sugar – _did_ we fix it?"

"Umm…." Between the shock of learning that his supposedly deceased friend was very much still alive, and the crazy mix of disturbing and outright baffling things that she was now saying, Rufus' mind was spinning in far too many directions for him to even _consider_ putting a coherent sentence together. Luckily, Mel chose that moment to interrupt, saving Rufus from having to answer whatever befuddling question Amanda had just posed.

"Begging your pardon, Ms. Carlisle, but there's been a development that…" Mel began, only to be shut down immediately.

"Did I give you _permission_ to speak, soldier?" Amanda demanded loudly and severely of the other woman.

Squirming under the heat of Amanda's reproving glare, Mel lowered her eyes meekly to the ground. "No, ma'am."

Determined to make her point, Amanda reached for Mel's face and, with one finger, tilted her chin up until their eyes locked. "Consider yourself _warned_." With her free hand, Amanda deftly slipped the gun from Mel's grip, and pressed it to the other woman's temple. "I'm sure I don't need to remind _you_ , of all people, of the consequences for talking out of turn, do I?"

The harsh exchange between the two women served to snap Rufus out of his stupor, drawing his attention to Amanda's apparent authority over Mel. On a certain level, it was immensely gratifying for Rufus to see Mel – the woman who'd wreaked such havoc on his life – firmly put in her place. Whatever fleeting satisfaction he found in that, however, was quickly overridden by the realization that Amanda was clearly Rittenhouse, and apparently even more psychotic than Mel.

"No, ma'am." Mel shook her head fervently. Rufus couldn't help but notice, however, the way that she continued to squirm, almost as if the words that she'd been ordered to repress were literally fighting to wriggle their way out of her mouth. In the end, the words won the battle. "It's just that Mr. Carlin isn't from the same…."

Just as casually as one might swat a pesky mosquito, Amanda pulled the trigger of the gun still leveled against the side of Mel's head, putting a permanent end to the other woman's insubordination.

Completely revolted and shaken to his very core, Rufus quickly turned away from the gruesome sight. While certainly no stranger to death or killing _(protecting American history from a creepy psychopath bent on burning it to the ground had promptly seen to that),_ witnessing it never got any easier for Rufus, particularly in the case of coldblooded murder, which this _clearly_ was. The fact that someone he had once considered a cherished friend had been the one to commit said murder only made it that much worse. Rufus felt certain that he would have nightmares about Mel's death for months to come, just as he'd once had about Amanda's.

Holding the instrument of Mel's death limply by two fingers as if it were a germ-ridden scrap of refuse that she couldn't wait to be rid of, Amanda handed the revolver to Rufus. Before Rufus could even process the fact that he was now in possession of the weapon, Amanda gestured towards the waiting time machine, and began to climb aboard.

"So…where were we, sugar? Oh yes – the loop!" she babbled cheerfully as she scaled the somewhat slippery exterior of the Mothership. "Did Master Sergeant Logan's behavioral modifications have the desired effect, or are we back to the drawing board? _Please_ tell me we succeeded, Rufus, because I'm not sure I could bear it if…."

The rest of Amanda's chatter was completely lost on Rufus, his brain having seized at the mention of Wyatt's name in conjunction with the phrase 'behavioral modifications'. Though certain aspects of what Amanda had said earlier still made very little sense to him _(loop – what loop?),_ the bulk of it was now exceedingly clear: Amanda had time-traveled to the year 2000, faked her own death, and _(apparently on Carol Preston's orders –on_ Rittenhouse's _orders)_ had undertaken an assignment posing as a soldier's wife. As Master Sergeant Logan's wife. As _Wyatt's_ wife.

Wyatt's wife who had disappeared from the side of a road in 2012, never to be seen alive again. Wyatt's wife whose death had launched him into a six-year spiral of guilt, grief, and self-destruction from which the poor man had only recently begun to emerge. Wyatt's wife whose mere _ghost_ had caused the man to deny and reject the very _real_ , soul-deep, utterly 'meant to be' love that he and Lucy felt for each other. Wyatt's wife who was never, _ever_ , in fact, Wyatt's _actual_ wife, but rather a Rittenhouse plant of some sort – someone whose sole goal was, from what Amanda had implied, to break and bend the Delta Force soldier in order to serve some as yet unknown purpose.

As a generally easy-going, peace-loving man, and someone who abhorred violence of every sort, Rufus had never quite fathomed the meaning of the phrase 'murderous rage'. Yet now, as he contemplated the wholesale destruction that Amanda Carlisle had apparently wreaked on the life of his best friend – an intrinsically good man who hadn't deserved anything _close_ to the sheer hell that she'd put Wyatt through – Rufus _finally_ understood.

Tightly gripping the revolver that Amanda herself had placed in his hand, Rufus began his own awkward ascent into the time machine. One way or another, he would see to it that Amanda Carlisle – AKA 'Jessica Logan' – paid for her sins.


End file.
